Someone to Watch Over Me
by shywr1ter
Summary: S1 Max and Logan, taking place after Red and before Art Attack. Just as Logan says, 'Basic human impulse...not wanting to be alone.” Mostly canon friendly.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel borrowed, no profits realized. **

**A/N: A slice of life between "Red" and "Art Attack."**

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_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_

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**Midnight:**

Logan drew a long, deep breath as he started rousing, the heavy fabric of the couch cushions on his cheek reminding him where he was, and that he'd only stretched out for a short nap, catching up on just a little sleep to let him get back at it. Before he opened his eyes he felt the gentle weight against his nose reminding him he'd not even pulled off his glasses, and a small crick in his neck told him he'd left several cushions under his shoulders, propping him against the couch's arm as he slept. Stretching his neck and back gingerly, he entertained his usual skeptical thought that a nap like this did more harm than good for his concentration... After a moment, he let out his breath slowly, as Bling had shown him, and opened his eyes blearily...

...to find Max on her knees beside the couch, leaning into him, curled at his side, cheek resting on his thigh, her eyes open but her face tipped away, even as he stirred. He frowned, surprised. "Hey..." he tried, and when she lifted her face to look into his eyes Logan felt his chest tug at the aching sadness he saw there. Frown deepening in concern, he asked, "Max, what is it? Are you okay?" She wavered, and when she didn't speak right away, Logan prompted again, "Max?"

She finally shook her head and shrugged, her eyes glittering with the moisture of tears that wanted to form. "I'm okay, Logan... I.." How could she put all of it into words? "I just ... needed to see a friendly face ... someone who knew all my secrets..."

His worry eased slightly but the concern did not. "Something happen?' he asked, softly.

She shook her head, unable to explain at the moment... and, Logan, thinking only of how he wanted to ease the pain he saw in her eyes, moved to stroke her hair gently, much as he had when she lay there herself, trembling with seizures. "You should have awakened me."

She shook her head, eyes cast away, unable to make eye contact at the moment... but not moving from his side... or his caress. "Nah... you needed the sleep, and... Just having you nearby was good..."

He sighed for her, knowing she hurt, knowing the hell she'd been through in recent weeks and suspecting if he knew that much, that there was twice as much that he didn't know, keenly aware how hard it was for her to trust even this much, to admit to what it all was doing to her. He wouldn't push for more or expect anything else; he would simply be there and do anything in his power she might finally ask of him. Until then ... he would tread gently ... softly ... and keep hope alive that her trust in him would continue to grow. "Got my nap for the night. I'll be good for another several hours now." He lay back, making no effort to get up, waiting for her to make the first move away from him. His fingers still gently played with her hair, in slow, soothing movements...

Her sad eyes softened for his patient attention to her. "I think you're too sleep-deprived to remember which one of us has shark in her cocktail." He smiled in a silent nod to her jest, and she leaned her cheek back onto his thigh, eyes not leaving his. "You're working too hard."

His mouth pulled into a smirk as he shrugged. "Not yet ... I'm still taking the occasional nap..." He watched as she capitulated, knowing it was a lost argument before it even started – and probably not wanting to remind either of them the subject of so much of his recent work. "You just come from Crash?"

"Mmmm... no, I... was out for a ride..." Not quite true, but not as deceptive as saying she was at Crash with the others would have been. Logan nodded, accepting the statement for what it was. "I saw your lights, and figured you'd still be at it."

"Not a good night to be alone with your thoughts?" he asked gently. When she dropped her gaze, without speaking, he knew. "Stay here tonight. The guest room is made up, if you're sleepy... or just want some privacy... Or we could try a game of chess, if you're wanting to reduce me to rubble yet again." He was gratified to see her turn her eyes back up to his, with a little smile. "Or, I have a little more work I can do, nothing pressing ... but you could stay out here with the computer or TV if you'd rather, while I get a few more things done. And there's always hot water..."

At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to let him hold her, let him protect her and chase away all the ghosts of the past, all the demons of the present. Even soldiers get tired, she admitted to herself ... and now that she knew what it was to have someone to hold her up when she was weak, to help her think when she was exhausted, she knew that sometimes, just a few sometimes ... she needed to have his arms around her to keep her strong...

"...maybe... in a few minutes?" she asked, closing her eyes and nestling closer to the couch.

"As long as you like," Logan murmured, gently trailing his fingertips in their soothing dance along her temple, whispering along her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere..."

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_There's a somebody I'm longing to see  
I hope that he turns out to be  
Someone to watch over me_

_I'm a little lamb who's lost in a wood  
I know I could always be good  
To one who'll watch over me_

_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_  
George & Ira Gershwin, 1926

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**A/N: I found two other stories with this title in Dark Angel here on FFN; there must be tons in other fandoms. I tried to use a different title, but couldn't: the story started as a stray thought that led immediately to this song, which planted itself solidly in my head. Every time I pull this story out, it plays. So there ya go. Maybe as the story unfolds, if you know the song, you'll hear it too... **


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel borrowed, no profits realized. Dialogue from "411 on the DL" and "Blah Blah Woof Woof" property of the show's owners and writers, with thanks to DarkAngelFan (dot)com for its online transcripts.**

**A/N: Thanks to those who read; your reviews are appreciated.**

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_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_

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**An hour before:**

High above Seattle, Max sat on the Space Needle, knees drawn to her chest as she hugged them tightly, shivering. It wasn't the cold; probably it was the remnants of the seizure that threatened to come, the one she'd largely held at bay with a handful of tryptophan tabs and a small carton of milk she'd managed.

The seizures ... and memories...

_Eleven years ago this very night ... eleven years ago, the look on Eva's face as she was gunned down ... the look on Zack's from that time forward, until he made them scatter after he'd gotten them out of there ... eleven years ago and still no proper grieving for a lost sister, a murder victim remembered faithfully every year but in private, no one to share her grief ... _

Memories ... After a decade of hiding, of wondering and laying low and searching as she could, life had picked up for her and started crashing over her in waves, leaving memories of the last months which overshadowed all the years leading up to this one. A moment of Zack appearing back in her life, to be snatched away so fast she could barely trust her memory of his features afterward, to be followed by another few moments as he surfaced again, with her sister, as she then lost both him _and_ Brin...

She swore she could feel her heart breaking each time ... but this new grief, these recent months, were shared by someone who knew all her secrets, knew who and what she was... and was steadfast in the strength he offered her...

_She'd admitted to him the pain of anticlimax: "After all these years of waiting and wondering, I guess I expected-- I don't know ... That finding Zack would change everything. My life would finally make sense. Pretty stupid of me, huh?" She tried to acknowledge her weakness, her succumbing to emotion, to let him know she recognized its folly: " I just wanted somebody that was like me. Someone I can connect with."_

_But even in his own pain he'd responded with absolution and confirmation: "Basic human impulse-- not wanting to be alone."_

_Human. Logan had called her** human**... he knew all there was to know about her, and yet, attributed to her the most primal human need of all... _

Memories and nightmares and exhaustion filled her recent months: Lydecker on her tail, closing in on her, so close that she'd nearly listened to Zack, nearly left Logan...

...nearly _lost_ him...

_He'd held her, his arms supporting her in her dreams as gently and powerfully as his words and actions did in her reality. "Do you want to stop?"_

"_No. Don't let go." Don't let go ... never go ... _

"_I won't."_

"_Promise?"_

"_I promise."_

"_Logan... don't leave me..._"

...and now there were automatons out there, huge and unstoppable and on a first name basis with Manticore. The word was out, and even someone as slow-witted as Bruno managed to fool her into performing for them. She'd walked into their trap and, for the first time outside of Manticore, had come face to face with some beings who could neutralize her without too much struggle...

She dropped her head, feeling another tiny shiver ripple through her. It was too much, it was so big ... Logan had been worried enough for her before they spoke but after she admitted to him that she was afraid, too, he'd been driven to find them, to find who they were and who was after her, if it was only Manticore or if others now joined the hunt for her, too...

Logan fought 'til he dropped, for her; fought and went back to fight again, waging his war with research and information and technology, with informants and rumor. She thought she'd had a strong CO in Zack; knew she had... But in Logan, she'd found greater hero than Zack, given his mortality and all he did to overcome it ... and even more: in Logan, she'd found herself. Logan let her rest, when she needed it; he stood guard over her secrets and her weaknesses, and never saw her as less for them. Logan never let her believe she was anything but human ...

For so long she'd been the tough guy, the "human fog bank," on her own and making it alright. For so long it was easy to face her problems, deal, and move on. What had happened?

_...easy answer, Max_, she leaned her cheek on her knee as she pulled her shins tighter. _Logan Cale happened... _He knew her history as well as she did; maybe better – but he never saw her as anything but human. He'd seen her hated seizures – the first person she'd ever allowed to see what they did to her – and rather than be repulsed, he stroked her brow and sat up the night with her... She took from him shamelessly and he always gave more, never keeping an account or intimating in the slightest how skewed their _quid pro quo_ truly was...

He was her confessor, her cavalry, her better self. He was passionate and emotional and in turn, allowed her to have emotions, to _feel_. Allowed her to understand that a decade of running and hiding is exhausting for anyone, and that everyone needed a safe haven, now and then, a place – no, an arm, a shoulder – to lean on, in peace and trust and quiet, to rest... and, when needed... to mourn...

...and tonight–eleven years to the night that she'd seen Eva gunned down in cold blood just for not being perfect, eleven years to the night that Zack decided that they'd never survive unless they escaped the only home they'd ever known, their prison... there was no one she wanted to be with more at the moment than Logan Cale...

_...to be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I know this has no effect whatsoever, but it's no less true -- Dark Angel borrowed, no profits realized. Bring it back on the air, you can have any of this you want, as long as there's no silly recasting of Logan... **

**A/N: As always, thanks to those of you hanging in. If you're out there, let a guy know...**

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_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_

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**11:40 PM:**

Max stood astride her Ninja, looking up at the lights in Logan's windows, feeling torn: the pattern of lights she saw, which rooms and how bright, told her he was still up and working. Available to talk... available to listen... She sighed, inexplicably aching. Whether it was because of her memories, or the need she now felt to share them and seek his solace, she couldn't really tell.

She'd left the Space Needle and made a hurried beeline for Logan's place, at first speeding through the streets, hungry to see him, to see the tousled hair and sparkling green eyes and to hear the soothing, velvet voice in the hush of his genteel surroundings. These things always made the bad seem better, cradling and comforting her, representing not only the safe haven of Logan's knowledge of all her secrets, but his care for her, his fierce willingness to be her protector and his concern that she be safe and warm and content...

But as she neared, she slowed, and the years of running and harsh training worked to tamp her haste and remind her that she knew better than to embrace such ease: _the only thing you can depend on is yourself... weapons fail, contacts may be compromised, teammates turned. Each person you trust is another nail in your coffin, soldier; each person who knows something about you is your downfall, your murderer. Friends will betray you; lovers will turn you in. Trust will get you killed... _

As she stood looking up, staring at his windows, she shivered again, now merely in reaction to the battles raging within her, and she felt angry shame that she'd come to this. Whom should she distrust, after all – Logan or Lydecker? Which of them showed her compassion and concern, and which murdered her sister? Which of them gave to her, freely, of his larder and possessions and safety, and which would have her captured, even killed?

Which of them saw her as human, and which as his escaped science project?

In the damp, cold night another shiver threatened, as Max recognized which of them drew her so powerfully now it was almost a physical craving. In a painful recognition of her all-too-human frailty and need, she found herself hoping it was truly a choice she made, to let Logan in, and not some admission of her failing, of weakness ... She wanted to believe what she had told Zack, that this was a choice and that she was trying to live like anyone else, no matter how she'd been made... and usually she believed it, too. But when so many things pulled at her still-new emotions, she wondered if her desire for Logan's strong support was just more evidence of her being flawed ... _a lemon..._

As she moved her bike into the garage to bring it close to the familiar, dusty Aztek, the sight of the boxy, comic vehicle, smudged and battered, reminded her of its owner and in that, a dawning hope grew: the man who had everything and could, no doubt, arrange elegance even with hand controls, instead had a dirty, ill-conceived vehicle that probably irritated his family as much as his hair and stubble did. _It wasn't **her failing** that led her back, again and again, to Logan_, she understood, coming closer to accepting her desire for his warmth and comfort, _it was** his** **strength**..._

And even though the emotions that had battered her left her spent and sad, with far more questions than answers, Max knew she'd come to sanctuary: the place where, no matter the seizures or the insecurities or the secrets of her creation, she was accepted, even valued, and made to feel welcome...

**11:44 PM:**

As Max rode up in the quiet of the elevator to Logan's penthouse, she found herself leaning her forehead against the cool, dark wood of the elevator wall, still remembering what Lydecker had done to Eva. No matter how crazy her own life might have been, at least she'd _had_ one – Eva's was stolen from her before she'd gotten to taste freedom, to see the world, to sleep in a private room, eat alone, dress up or down, dress sexy or girly, have a best friend do her nails...

The elevator stopped and Max took a moment to still her emotions. No matter what she said or did, Logan would know something was bothering her, and she still fought the competing urges to tell him and let his wise thoughts ease the hurt, or to keep silent and not lose face, not show him any more of just how weak she could be. She would not lose sight of the fact that no matter how accepting and generous he'd been, Logan was human, and she couldn't yet quite believe that he wouldn't, sometime, find her neediness distasteful. She'd been taught the hard way that it never paid to show weakness, and he'd seen her physically helpless, wracked with seizures; no matter what she tried, he'd seen through her tough-guy act to know that her family was important to her, and that friends weren't far behind. And now, to let him see how she could let emotional pain hobble her more than physical pain would? Even Logan might say it's time to suck it up and _deal_...

She let herself in quietly, still not knowing what she'd say if he asked what was wrong – _when_ he asked – but knowing that she wanted to be with him more than anywhere else, at that moment. Coming quietly to the computer room she saw the system up and humming but its operator absent, no data scrolling across the screen to suggest his whereabouts. With a slight frown she turned back to the hall, coming around into the dimly-lit living room...

...where she found him. She stopped, looking at the lanky, dozing form, her gaze softening as her heart did, to see him lost in sleep. It hadn't occurred to her, once she saw the lights. He was stretched out on the couch, not stirring, his breathing deep and even...

On silent cat's feet she came close to study Logan's compelling form in the anonymity of his oblivion as he lay quiet, his brow less troubled than when he was awake, glasses still on and laptop humming only inches away on the coffee table. The sight of him, all hero-handsome and little boy rumpled, lessened her obsession with the past and brought her focus to the present, to his presence. She wanted to touch him, but would not wake him for the world...

He'd been exhausted. She knew that in the past weeks he'd worked long hours with few breaks to develop the intel they needed to watch the mayor's case as it developed, and as he did so decided he needed to step in, to protect the witness who would put the mayor away for his involvement with Sonrisa's crimes. Long weeks shifted then to long hours, as he battled for distance, battled to see Anselmo as a witness needing protection, no more, no less. The strain of doing so had been telling on him as well.

But in recent days, the most revealing battle Logan fought was the one he fought for her, the one he waged to find something about the men who'd attacked her, who knew about her – and knew about Manticore. The little gem Bruno dropped about the word on the street – Manticore by name, no less, even if he couldn't remember it without help – and the bounty placed on her and her siblings by Lydecker's people worried Logan maybe even more than it did her. No matter what other projects Eyes Only was battling, this obsessed him, and he was doing all he could to discover more about the South Africans who not only wanted her, but apparently had a small army of thugs who could actually overtake her...

The thoughts reminded her of another reason she'd come seeking solace from him, and she ached for the comfort he had shown her, the strength and care he'd offered her time and time again. But for the moment, it would be have to be enough to be close, to draw in his soothing, embracing scent, to rest at his side in the cool quiet of his elegant penthouse...

Silently, she slipped to her knees beside him, all the while watching the aristocratic face in repose, the artistic hands lying quietly across his chest... If she was careful not to jostle him as she did so, so that she didn't cause ripples he'd sense in his back or arms, she could just ... be here, with him, take comfort from his being close ... because even if he was asleep, the warmth and concern he'd shown her since she'd known him was more nurturing and caring than anyone else had ever offered her in her two, hard-won decades...

And not closing her eyes until the last possible second, Max slowly, carefully, leaned up close beside him at the couch, and cautiously ... so careful not to wake him ... leaned her cheek against his thigh... and finally began to relax...

_...to be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: See previous chapters. **

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_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_

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**A few minutes past midnight:**

_She's so beautiful_, Logan reflected, looking at the angelic face at his side, cheek tipped back onto his thigh. He tried to keep his expression neutral, to avoid telegraphing his worry at finding her here, her behavior so unlike the usual, confident, land-on-her-feet Max. _What hurt her so deeply that she would come here, like this, wanting comfort? _He gazed at Max's perfect features. _She's been through so much, fought all her life, either under Manticore's thumb or running from them ... no wonder she hurts ... no wonder it exhausts her._ His fingertips traced gentle, quiet comfort along her brow. _It's amazing that she made it so long on her own, without losing her sanity ... or her life... _he reflected._ Still... something happened; something upset her. _He swallowed the disappointment that he'd probably never know what it was. _Someday, Max... maybe you'll be ready to let me in, maybe even tell me what's so painful that even you need a shoulder..._

She sighed; he shifted to trace her hair back, a soft, tangling in her curls that soothed her even more. She seemed to be quieting, and he could feel her muscles relaxing. _If I could just find a way to let her forget ... if there were a way to her heart, I'd never let it be broken again..._ Logan imagined himself coming closer to take her soft cheek in his hands, trace her smooth skin and taste her lips, a fantasy he'd indulged more than once...

...but they weren't like that, and she wasn't here, with him, for that, he chided his guilty imagination. Whatever it had taken to finally get to her, she hurt and sought comfort – and had come to _him_. That thought was enough for now... it _had_ to be. It meant another step taken in her trust of him – and no matter what, he had to remember what a powerful thing that was...

**A few minutes past midnight:**

_I could stay like this forever,_ Max imagined as she breathed in Logan's scent, and felt muscles she didn't know were tense start to unknot, letting him hypnotize her with his magic touch. _If I never left this spot I wouldn't mind_, she thought, irrationally. _I could almost believe that this place was untouchable, and the Pulse never happened... that Manticore was just a bad dream..._

_...that Logan and I **were** 'like that...' _

This was just as she'd imagined, coming to Logan for comfort and his giving exactly that, no questions before she was ready, no demands... whatever he'd planned, whether it was continued sleep or more work, he cast it away to give her his attention and just be there for her. It wasn't always Logan's reaction, she understood, not when she was her normal self and the downtrodden were involved ... but like this, when she was a bit downtrodden herself, he saw through her immediately and just as quickly moved to comfort her...

_How could he know, so fast, and so well, that this is what I needed? And how did I know that he would? _

Max curled silently against him as his whispered touch soothed the competing ghosts of pain and loss, fear and exhaustion. Never in her embattled, mixed-up life had anyone ever touched her so sweetly and tenderly, with such gentle care, until Logan had – before, when the seizures were bad ... and now, when old hurts and new enemies seemed overwhelming. _He's given so much already_, she had to concede, _and here I am again..._ As Logan's gentle ministrations eased her pain and softened her inner struggles, they gave way to let herself feel shame for taking his time, for asking him to see her like this. _Like he doesn't have another million things on his plate..._ His ready willingness to accept her weaknesses both touched her and increased her guilt... _He knew this was why I came ... and I knew he would. I would be happy staying like this forever... and he said he wasn't going anywhere..._

She turned her face back toward him and opened her eyes, wondering with a blush if he could see her thoughts, too, if he knew his power. She felt the need to apologize, but any words died before she could form them: he looked content to have her there, so patient, as if he truly had nothing else pulling him away from this moment...

Logan saw Max turn back to him, and as her eyes opened, the 'responsible Logan' started to take control of his head. Self-conscious now too, he pulled back a little, untangling his long fingers from her hair and shifting his attentions to be less intimate, even while still soothing. _It would be bad enough to take advantage of her sorrows_, he reminded himself, steeling himself not to let her see his thoughts. _Even worse to have her worry again that I might misunderstand, and have to clear things up again as she did in the hospital..._

In his face, Max saw, too, that the concern Logan had managed to mask was still there; her sudden neediness had him worried, and his fear of telegraphing that worry had him scrambling to look unaffected. But she had learned his expressions and his disguises, and knew that he wanted to hide his fears from her, for her sake. _If only the world could be as good as Logan's heart,_ she thought irrationally, _none of this would have happened ... no Red series ... no Lydecker ...no Manticore... _

_...no Eva,_ Max suddenly thought, with a chill. _No me..._

"Max?"

She'd sat up at the thought, the connection momentarily disturbing. As she did, the worry in the green eyes was exposed. But with his expression, Max could imagine what he'd say, if she blurted out the thought: _not your fault, Max, no one picks how they're born..._ she looked back at the serious look on the handsome face, and managed a wan smile, sad for Eva and herself and for him. "Just a bad night," she said softly, her apology finally managed. "Just got to thinking about everything and I let it get to me."

Logan looked into the deep, sad eyes and saw that, if she wasn't telling him everything, at least she was telling him the truth. _No new dangers, just the old familiar ones_, he thought ruefully. "Understandable," he smiled gently. "It's a big world out there."

Her smile at his understatement was finally genuine, if small, but definitely Max. "It is that." She looked at him directly, less ashamed now with the reprieve in his words. "And here I am, holding up the battle."

"You're not," he promised immediately, his words barely audible. "Plenty of time to save the world later." He paused, and, seeing how even as she came back, she was still far from 'alright,' urged again, "and plenty of reasons not to run off so fast..."

She wavered, looking into the remarkable green eyes before her, her old life battling the new for control... and finally, with a sigh, not speaking, she leaned her cheek back onto his thigh...

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_There's a saying old, says that love is blind  
Still we're often told, seek and ye shall find  
So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind_

_Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet  
He's the big affair I cannot forget  
Only man I ever think of with regret_

_I'd like to add his initial to my monogram  
Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?_

_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_  
George & Ira Gershwin, 1926

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	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: See previous chapters. **

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_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_

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**Many minutes past midnight, in front of the monitors:**

He heard the water stop as Max must have finally come to the limit of his seemingly bottomless hot water heater, having succumbed to his suggestion that a hot shower and warm sweats help ease just about any ills. After she'd gone in he found some sweat pants that might not be too huge, a blanket-soft pullover, and warm socks – although he somehow he couldn't picture Max padding around stocking-footed. Leaving them all on the corner of his bed – and doing his damnedest not to think of her travel between shower and the pile of clothes awaiting her – he'd gone off to warm milk for some real hot chocolate. Pleased that he could pull out the tin of cookies brought to him that afternoon by Mrs. Moreno as her thanks for his previous day's resurrection of her dying computer, he readied cookies and mugs and went back to work as he waited for Max to finish her shower.

As he once again imagined her emerging from the steamy bath to grab the clothing waiting for her, he suspected that her shower had been long enough that he might need to reheat the milk just a little. He went back to the kitchen and moved the pan back onto the burner, turning it on, low. He'd let the milk warm 'til she was ready. He'd wait forever if it was for Max, he mused. He wondered if she had any idea that was so... if there was any chance she could miss it...

She had stayed with him in the front room, kneeling quietly at his side, leaning into his form, as they lost track of time. They hadn't spoken for many minutes, the silence soothing and comfortable as each spun their own private thoughts of what it meant, of how it felt to be together, as they were ... of what could be ... Each decided to keep the real world at bay just for a while, finding that the closeness and the quiet was something they could discover together, even in the harsh life that awaited them on the streets, a little dream they could share. When she'd finally shifted to look up at him again, sitting up to pull away gently, few words were passed between them – was she feeling alright? Could he get her something to eat? Wouldn't she please stay, so the third shift sector police wouldn't take advantage of the hour to hassle her, just because they could?

...and he wondered if she could see his relief when she told him she would...

**Many minutes past midnight, master bedroom:**

The long hot shower had allowed Max her few hurting, bitter tears a private escape, and her pain a retreat, now softening to a dull, lingering ache. Coming out of the large bath suite into Logan's bedroom, a sanctuary she'd invaded on very few occasions, she was lifted enough from her mourning by the surroundings to look around with a quiet, new curiosity. Coming to the foot of the large, plush bed, she found herself imagining him tangled in the soft grey duvet before her... and she chided herself a second time as she realized her images had been of the room bathed in candlelight... _Eva, what kind of a sister am I, to let memories of you be interrupted by something like this?_

_Maybe ... just maybe..._ her wiser self reminded her, _you should ask what kind of a man is Logan Cale, to pull you from such powerful memories?_

She saw the clothes he'd left for her and lifted the jersey to her nose, breathing the scent of freshly laundered clothes, of Logan ... It dawned on her that he gave her _his_ clothes – not some left over from another woman, not Valerie's – and idly, she wondered if he just didn't have any remnants of old affairs left in his drawers and closets, or if he was being tactful by not suggesting there had been a parade of others through his shower. She pulled the jersey on over her head, shaking off the thought with a rueful, self-deprecating laugh. _Face it, Max, anything he had here that he didn't need would have gone to a safe house or a shelter by now_, she mused. _That's Eyes Only out there – no way would he let the lost souls of Seattle go naked ...and he's too practical to let sentimentality override a few more years' use in a pair of jeans or a sweater..._ She smoothed the jersey over her hips, its mingled scent like arms around her now.

_...or would he?_

Max stared at the sweat pants, lying in wait on the bed, as her thoughts turned to consider how much her life had changed since she first dropped into this penthouse and into Logan's life. _From running through snow... and running from truant officers and police ... to running from too many questions from sector patrols and Normal, and always, always running from Lydecker..._

_...was this it? Was it **Logan **I was running **to**...?_

She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath. _Eva, we made it; some of us did ... you never asked to be the catalyst but you were, you were sacrificed so we'd see what was in store for us if we didn't escape ... did Lydecker have a clue about what he was showing us at that moment? Could you have known, in your last moments alive? _Max felt one more, lone tear press out from between her eyelids, and she opened her eyes again. Before her, the quiet elegance of Logan's bedroom, like the rest of his home – like Logan himself – spoke of alternatives, the assurance that not all in this life was squalid and dank and desperate...

She sighed and pulled on the long sweats, pulling at them to adjust to her smaller frame. No matter the guilt she might feel at taking so much from Logan, she wouldn't feel guilt for living, for having around her the things Logan offered, the things she earned with her own job. She would never have expected Eva to feel it, had the situation been reversed; she knew Eva would never want her to feel survivor's guilt – and Manticore's survival training was too much a part of her, no matter how much the murder still pained her. _No point at all for the living to feel guilty for making it one more day, _Max reflected, lifting the socks, considering them, then dropping them back on the bed. _Of course, if it would bring Eva back ... I'd manage to find guilt in every moment I've been alive that she hasn't..._

She opened her eyes again. Here she was, surrounded by comfort and beauty, and was reminded yet again how lucky she was, not only that Logan was so gracious in sharing all this with her, but that she had survived this long, to enjoy his generosity...

Which awaited her yet again, as she knew he was up and moving around, had heard him in the kitchen and now again at the computer ... if she wasn't here he might still be getting some rest, she reflected sadly. He was waiting for her, waiting in concern, ready to sooth or comfort or help any way he knew how. He'd never go to bed without seeing her, assuring himself she was alright. _A modern knight in shining armor; twenty - first century chivalry..._ and wouldn't Lydecker be surprised to know that one of his souped up soldiers not only responded to, but _craved_, that care ... _Logan's_ care...

_...because I'm **human**,_ Max suddenly breathed. _Just as Logan said..._

And knowing that the sooner she got out there to convince Logan that she was just fine, the sooner he might get some sleep, Max took one last look at his soothing, sumptuous bed, not letting her thoughts go further, before turning to head back out of his bedroom...

**And few minutes more past midnight, in front of the monitors:**

He tried not to listen for her, now moving around in his bedroom and bath, as he came back to the computer array, poking at the information there without anything really sinking in at the moment. His mind was on the sounds he was trying to ignore. _Not fair to her ... not sane for me_, he lectured himself yet again, reminding himself of who and what they were. _Not now, as hurt as she was ... and not ever likely, the way things stand for me._ But just having her close, in his bedroom, in his sweats, made the words an exercise in futility, empty words that he felt obligated to repeat. She'd come to him in trust and in need, and the gift she'd given him of her rarely seen emotions, defenses down and open to him, let him imagine all things were possible. _Don't make yourself crazy_, he'd warned himself. But just as quickly, he heard a small voice in his head prodding him that it was too late for that...

The sound of softly padding feet met his ears only moments before the scents of soap and shampoo and shower taunted him, and he struggled to keep his eyes on the monitor, feigning deep interest and concentration. _Just breathe, bucko,_ he found himself thinking. _If you can look Gerhardt Bronck in the eye when he's got you tied up, you can manage the same with Max..._

"Hey," he tried, with a casual, platonic and very brief glance up her way. His immediate, involuntary, double-take glance back up at her wasn't nearly as brief, as he met her eyes, taking her in...

"Hey," she smiled, and he was glad he'd already spoken, because his voice had left him for the moment: damp hair curling and her skin still aglow from the hot shower, Max stood before him looking like a lost child, in oversized borrowed clothing – _his_, he swallowed, imagining the contours within them. Her smile was game, but it still wasn't 'Max...'

_What was it about the male gender that made male so ready to play caveman for female? What was it about Max that made him think he could even begin to 'protect' **her**? At least he damn well knew **why**..._

"Feel better?" he managed. Did his voice sound as strangled to her ears as it did to his own? _Not now, Cale..._ the warning was more terse, this time. _Don't do this to either of you... take a breath and remember why Max came to you, tonight..._

"Yeah," she smiled, her manner still quiet, but calmer than it had been when she arrived, and her sad eyes not as desperate. As she pulled the desk chair over to sit, he noted absently that her feet were bare. "So whatcha working on?" she tried teasing. "Has Eyes Only gotten any new calls or leads or puppies that need rescuing?"

She sat in the desk chair beside him, not perching on the desk or straddling the chair backward, as usual, but mostly sitting in the chair as it was made to be used, sitting forward, but with her bare feet poised on the splayed legs of the chair base, toes almost curled around them as if holding on. The image pulled his interest, inexplicably, and it took him a moment to shake free of its spell, and to attempt a response...

She didn't want to hear about his latest information on the South Africans or their ties with Manticore, not tonight. Not like this. He didn't want to remind either of them of their strength. And he didn't want to bring the ugliness of the world back in, now that she had begun to leave it behind. But this time, he actually had something he could tell her that might not intrude too heavily...

"Well, not exactly..." As he answered, Max saw an honest smile start crossing his face, and his eyes took on the light of pride she saw on rare occasions when he allowed himself to believe he could make a difference. "... but an intrepid investigative journalist whom you happen to know got a tip and followed it into a rather juicy story."

Max smiled for his words, but more for his enthusiasm. "You gonna tell me or make me guess?" she prodded.

"It's better over hot chocolate and cookies..." He snapped off his brakes and pushed back from his computer. "Milk's hot and ready, and Mrs. Moreno's cookies are waiting for you."

As Logan turned to go, Max sat unmoving for a moment, simply gazing at him, his ready thoughtfulness leaving her feeling inadequate. _No matter what he asks of me, no matter what I can do for him or for Eyes Only, I could never make up for all he's done..._ She felt her eyes swim again, victim of her emotional evening. _But something in him makes me never want to stop trying..._

Sensing she wasn't coming, Logan had turned to find her still sitting alone, almost forlorn in the moment. "...Max?" he tried, stopping too, waiting.

But at the sound of his voice, she lifted her eyes to his and, at the contact, offered a smile of hope to him. "I love cookies," she whispered.

He looked at the beautiful woman, with the little girl peering out through her eyes. "I know," he smiled softly. "That's why I saved them for you..."

_...to be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: See previous chapters. **

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_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_

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**Long past midnight, in the kitchen:**

Logan surreptitiously stole glances over at Max as she frothed their hot chocolate with the little wooden tool she usually found so amusing, an ancient tool with the sole purpose of making hot milk foamy. He leaned toward her, slowly added more steamy milk as Max mixed, and reminded her that he had marshmallows in the pantry. As she turned to go get the sweets, the smile he saw in return broke his heart – she was trying to rally, trying to tuck her pain back behind the wall usually erected around her emotions – and, without knowing what troubled her, Logan felt helpless to know how to help her.

Without asking or waiting to be asked now, Max lifted both mugs from the counter by the stove and brought them to the bar. Logan lifted the tin of cookies into his lap and followed, watching Max slip gracefully onto one of the stools at the bar, placing her own mug in front of her, and setting his at the corner of the counter top. She expected him to park his chair at the corner, as usual. Logan stifled a sigh, glancing over at the empty barstool across from her. The raised work bar stood at a height perfect for the stool in which she sat, but which only reinforced the awkwardness of his being shoulder height to the surface. He couldn't think of many arrangements less conducive to eye contact and conversation...

Well, this was what he and Bling had been practicing for, wasn't it, the many reps of choreographed, not- always- patient drills of 'hopping' over, up and sideways onto the barstool from his chair? Briefly he wondered which of them had the idea first, and decided that it was probably another one of those projects that Bling engineered, making him think that _he'd_ come up with the idea...

He gave it a quick second thought – if he missed and ended up on his ass, he'd be sick with humiliation, and the last thing Max needed right now was to have to wade through his crap. But he looked up to see the soft, quiet air still lingering around Max, as she fished out a couple marshmallows and dropped them in her mug, stirring them absently. _Screw the ego_, he kicked himself. _Max came here for your shoulder. It's not always about you..._

He drew a deep breath. He _had_ been managing it pretty consistently for a week or so now, and was about ready to dare it in front of Max anyway. The thought of sharing hot chocolate with Max at the kitchen bar, each of them leaning in to talk, eye to eye, over the counter, was enough to make him want to try. "Here," he handed the cookie tin to her, and pivoted toward the other side of the bar. "Mrs. Moreno does amazing work." Max again smiled without speaking, and put the tin in her lap to open it. And as her eyes were averted, popping open the tin and choosing a couple cookies to lift onto the napkin in front of her, Logan set his brakes, reached over, and shifted up onto the barstool across from Max.

...who blinked in a moment of surprise, but then smiled softly when she saw the look in his eye, one of self-conscious anticipation. _So this was important to him -- a hurdle he'd cleared _..._ he looks as if it took more courage up to do that in front of me than to take on the whole West Coast drug syndicate..._ Even more touching was that her reaction was important to him, too, she could see – he cared what she thought. "Hey," she offered, her voice warm. "Look at you." Her smile relaxing into a more Max-like one than he'd seen yet that evening, she reached out slowly, pointedly, to slide his mug over in front of him.

"Says the X-5 to the mortal." His look shifted from apprehension to self-deprecation, but she could see the relief in his eyes, in the clearing of his brow. "I gave up on Bling's guys ever coming to lower the counter."

_As if you ever asked him to set that up. _Max didn't let him see her disbelief , but let her smile curl a bit higher, as he'd expect, and she lifted the cookie in front of her from napkin to lips. Biting into the chip-studded treat, she sighed at the rich mix of flavors it brought. "Mmm..." she began. "Logan, you're right; this _is_ awfully good – you've got some real competition upstairs."

Still feeling relieved to see how readily Max took his transfer in stride, Logan settled himself a bit more, and swirled a spoon through his hot chocolate, shaking his head in surrender as he murmured, "She outdoes me in baking by a mile." He looked back up to watch the beautiful face across from him, now feeling self-indulgent for even worrying about his own touchy ego, given how hurt Max had been when he first woke to find her there. Even as she had rallied a bit, he still saw none of her street-wise cockiness there, none of the tough-guy soldier, just a quiet woman with gentle eyes and a troubled heart. _She could pull a pretty convincing attitude if she wanted_, he reflected. She'd had to cover and con her way through enough of her life not to be good at it.

_...but she didn't..._ And he realized that the woman in front of him, then, might be the real Max, defenses down ... reaching out for comfort ... for _his_ comfort... And at the reminder of just how Max had put her trust in him this evening – did so daily, with her very life – and of just how precious and protected a commodity that trust was to her... he felt that powerful mix of neanderthal and tenderness burn again in his chest.

"You'll never hear me complain." She looked into the sparkling eyes across from her that had met hers at her words. Taken with the strength and empathy she saw there, Max felt herself ready to hold Eva's memory aside for the moment, to push past her own neediness – and to urge Logan back to the expression of pleased accomplishment she'd seen a few minutes before. He was exhausted, and no matter his naps or his rally for her, she wouldn't keep him awake tending to her much longer. She wanted them to end the evening on that happier note. "And don't forget that we came out here so you could fill me in on the juicy new intel you've discovered."

She was glad to see that after only a moment or two's hesitation, Logan relaxed back into the grin he'd worn when he first mentioned it, a sort of boyish happiness in his look. "Oh, just some pieces of information, here and there, that I picked up and passed on..." he drawled, clearly pleased at the reminder of recent events, "and now I get to finish it up as a little story for the P-I." Not only was he proud of what he'd accomplished above ground, all the threads finally coming together earlier that same evening, but he was happy to have something to offer Max other than the Red series or Manticore or more of her own personal nightmares, happy it was ending well, happy he was again helping the city. The fact that it also gave him a chance to show Max bit of his above- ground success was just gravy.

"The newspaper?" She asked. "You're still writing? Doing non-Eyes Only stuff?" She hadn't known ... and in some regret, he realized it _had_ been a while since he'd published in the paper or a magazine of general circulation. It occurred to him that since he'd gotten back home from the hospital he'd managed only a couple esoteric pieces, published in an eco-science journal and political junkie's weekly ... Well, he'd have to change that – and this would be a good start.

"Front page over the fold, and a by-line, too. What better way to convince people I'm still an investigative journalist than to do a story _as_ an investigative journalist?" Max saw his easy grin, itself a feat in the circumstances, and it pleased her to think that he could feel so lighthearted, even happy. He'd been through so much, none of warranted, when he deserved so much better...

"And splash it out under everyone's noses." She smiled in genuine pride and pleasure for him. "Nice."

"It's something that Bling tipped me to recently, the sudden withdrawal of city funding for community free clinics." Logan started explaining recent events, letting his success paint hope over the harsh world around them. "It didn't take long to find out who was behind it all, which pretty well answered the _why_ of the matter. All the internal campaigning among the members of the City Council to cut the funds was traceable back to one person – Councilman Terence Nicholson – _Dr_. Terence Nicholson."

"The one with the chain of clinics of his own..." Max nodded with the connection. "The 'doc in the box' places that overcharge and send some people home in worse shape than they went in."

Logan nodded. "The very same. He'd actually managed to get himself onto the City Council so he could get access to the rhymes and reasons of the free clinics' funding. In a very few months, he makes some friends, pulls some strings, even manipulates numbers and other statistics to justify it to the public and 'protect' council members who caught on ... and gets clinic funding cut at last month's meeting, all below the radar until the vote's a done deal." No matter the by-line, Eyes Only shone through as Logan explained his recent discovery. "He figures it's the fastest way to cut out his most serious competitors."

"Sounds more like an Eyes Only broadcast than a by-line." Her smile was soft as her eyes sought his.

"Well, he wasn't much of a con artist, no matter his sleazy motives. And the information was ridiculously easy to come by – a wet-behind-the-ears novice could have found this information." He looked proud of his discovery, smirking with satisfaction. "If he weren't so greedy he might have spent some money hiring someone who could have at least secured his files. This was all way too easy to trace to risk Eyes Only's resources, when public records and a tiny bit of elementary data hacking gave me all I needed. The biggest surprise was that someone else hadn't run the story before I had it."

"What will happen with the clinics?" Max had known too any people who had depended on the city's free clinics not to know the significance in his accomplishment – and she now knew Logan Cale well enough to know he wouldn't consider the project completed until he was sure the clinics would be fully funded again. _C'mon, this is Logan_, she mused to herself, _he probably will stay at them til he gets a couple new ones opened, too..._

"Got the final word about three hours before you came – on the first call, the City Council agreed to reinstate the funding at its next meeting. About forty minutes after I explained what would be going into the story, the second call came, saying they'd had an emergency tele-conference at which they agreed to reinstate funds immediately, and that they would be happy to provide me with whatever details I needed to add _that_ to the story." His satisfaction with how smoothly the matter had been resolved was clear. "The job gets done, Eyes Only doesn't risk unnecessary exposure, Logan Cale gets a bit of front page real estate... and a hefty check for my troubles."

"Hefty, huh? For Logan Cale?" Max actually laughed, gently. "How much was it, maybe the price of dinner at your Aunt's yacht club?"

"More like what Normal would pay you for fifteen minutes overtime," he countered.

Max smirked. "I suspect you're worth a bit more than that... but I get the idea." She drew her feet into the stool's seat and, hugging her knees to her chest with a limber grace, rested her chin on her knees, watching him, after all this time only momentarily rattling Logan with her feline grace. "When will it run?"

"I'm sending it over in the morning." He was better practiced these days at getting past his ever-recurring amazement with Max, he congratulated himself, but some times – like now – were harder than others... "I think they'll put it in tomorrow – or, the morning after _this_ morning." He looked a bit apologetic for reminding her of the hour. "This week, for sure, depending on what leads each day."

"So Clark Kent saves the day without having to take off his glasses," she teased him gently.

"Or wearing tights," he smirked.

"Don't sell those tights short..." Max's smile caressed him as she watched the tiredness continue to creep slowly over his features, probably aided by the hot milk. She knew he was pushing himself to stay awake, just to sit with her – and just the thought itself was comforting enough to see her through the rest of the night. "C'mon, Superman, you can barely keep your eyes open. Go hit the hay."

"I'm good, Max..." He insisted in stubborn sleepiness.

"I know. But maybe I want your place to myself for a bit, you know, cruise the web a while."

"So you'll stay?" When she wavered slightly, feeling that she again took more from him than she should, he added, "Please, Max ... stay here, at least til it's time for work..."

She could see he sought comfort as well, the comfort of knowing she'd be there – and knew just as clearly it wasn't because he wanted an X-5 bodyguard close by. With a soft smirk, she shrugged, a bare echo of the street girl in her voice. "Sure. There are plenty of cookies left..."

...and the smile she saw in return, in itself, made her midnight trip to his place worthwhile...

**Another some minutes past midnight:**

Max had convinced Logan to let her clean up their dishes, shooing him out of the kitchen to finish up his loose ends and close out his files for the night. Moving slowly, thoughts wandering back over the past moments with him, the past hours and weeks, Max rinsed their mugs and drew a damp cloth across the counter to catch their crumbs. How different the year had been, this year since the last anniversary of her sister's death – and how much of it had involved the man in the other room. He'd taught her to care about others around her, not only her friends and her absent family, but those she didn't actually know, in need, those she could help ... he'd demonstrated, daily, the meaning of passion and care, of concern and morality ... He'd offered her humanity, and comfort ... He taught her that Lydecker was wrong, that sometimes trusting someone was the only way to save yourself... to save your soul...

...and it was Logan Cale who had taught her that she _had_ one, to save...

**And a few more:**

"Logan, before you go to bed..."

He looked up from closing down his files to see Max back in the doorway of the computer room, looking small and alone, her voice once more quiet, and the sorrow she'd brought with her again evident. But now she seemed a little more settled, less drawn into herself. She wavered, clearly wanting to talk, but still silent. As he waited, watching, he could start to believe that she understood he was there for her and always would be, that he could help her carry the load when sometimes it grew too heavy, even for her...

And when she still couldn't find the words on her own, his velvet voice came softly, a gentle comfort. "...anything, Max..." He promised.

She met his eyes, still amazed that anyone could say that to her and mean it; still full of wonder and anticipation that it was Logan Cale who did. Seeing only his strength and concern reflected there, she rolled her shoulder away from the doorway to take a step toward him, and another, and sat slowly against his desk. After a moment, she drew a painful breath, knowing that no matter how difficult, by speaking now, the pain might be eased... and the memory of another life finally honored...

"...before we escaped," her voice came in a whisper of mourning and sorrow... and trust in the man who heard her. "I had another sister ... Eva..."

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_Won't you tell him please to put on some speed  
Follow my lead, oh, how I need  
Someone to watch over me_

**_﻿Someone to Watch Over Me_**  
George & Ira Gershwin, 1926

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	7. Epilogue

**DISCLAIMER: See previous chapters. **

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_**Someone to Watch Over Me**_

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**Epilogue**

**The next morning:**

He'd been in a blissful fog since he'd awakened: Max was long gone by the time he roused at ten, of course. He'd known she'd be off to work and had made her promise to check in with him if she needed anything, wanted to talk ... He believed she'd be better this morning, and her old self in a day or so, given the extraordinary story she'd finally told him, revealing the demons that drove her to him the night before, but knew he was right when he'd made his way out to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee: she'd left him a note, nothing special in itself, but she'd left it on a plate, nestled next to a piece of now-cold toast with jelly eyes, a dab-of-mayo nose, and a wide, beaming grin made of dark, wrinkly raisins, a portion of a marshmallow adding a single, silly tooth. The note's final line had read, "P.S. I made you breakfast."

_She made him smile..._

Max. The woman who had been on his mind nearly non-stop since she dropped in on him, literally; the woman who was an extraordinary mix of genetic planning and environmental conditioning, a unique 'nature versus nurture' outcome... he'd learned a little more about her last night, learned about a horrific, heartbreaking loss she'd been made to suffer, so young, in circumstances so brutal that a show of any reaction at all, let alone grief, would have exacted more brutality. Thank God they were free of it; thank God Zack had been rattled enough by it to demand their escape. Thank God Max had found her way to his penthouse, and he could offer small comforts to make up for the childhood she had stolen from her... Thank God Max had found him, and found in him someone she could trust...

_Max..._

She had taken his heart hostage from the first moments he'd met her, no matter what he tried to tell everyone, including himself. Less than twenty four hours ago he was still in denial, secretly yearning for that connection with Max that he truly saw as unrequited. But in her pain, when she needed someone to understand, Max had come to _him_, and that small step made all the difference in the world... Overly dramatic? Pathetic misjudgement of the situation to find desire where none existed? Finally, he was able to put away such fears, because no matter what he might have tried to tell himself before, the look he'd seen in her eyes didn't allow him to discount its significance – for along with the pain and the trust he'd seen a tenderness there, a connection ... even her own longing, for him...

And for the first time since she'd reappeared in his penthouse, after his injury, he held, in his thoughts of her, not just an impossible dream... but hope...

**Soon, the same morning:**

Bling's session with him that day had been at 10:30, and it didn't take long for the perceptive therapist to see that his charge was off in his own world – and not long after that, to correct his assessment and suspect Eyes Only was off in a special world for two, with a certain revved-up woman and a dazed, growing belief that the woman of his dreams held him in hers, as well... Bling had only to ask a few, seemingly innocuous questions to be sure – if the article was done, if he'd gotten any sleep... if Max had stopped by yesterday... And at the spacy look of Logan's remaining disbelief and wonder that preceded his reply, Bling knew something must have happened – something _good_.

He'd said nothing more about it, but wore his own pleased, slightly smug smile through the rest of the session, Logan oblivious to his reaction. Before leaving, however, Bling crossed over to his backpack and pulled out a white paper bag. Reaching inside, he produced out a small bottle of dark green glass and handed it to Logan. "Here," he began, "I picked this up for Sandra and me, but I can get another on the way home. I think you ought to have this one..."

"What is it?" At the silent shrug he saw in reply, Logan unscrewed the bottle's cap to sniff the contents delicately. His expression of surprise told the therapist he now had Logan's full attention for the first time that morning, much to his continuing amusement. Logan touched the open top and tipped the bottle a little to coat his finger, and rolled his finger and thumb together, confirming his first guess. "It's... massage oil?" he stammered. At the still silent shrug, now coupled with a delighted smirk, Logan tried to bristle, "since when have I needed..."

"Not so much 'need,' as appreciate. Or even _enjoy_," Bling suggested.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm sure you picked up some wrong idea somewhere." Logan just couldn't seem to make eye contact with Bling – another dead giveaway, the trainer mused.

"Hmm, maybe so. Still..." Bling crumpled the sack and tossed it in the nearby wastebasket, by the shelves stacking the therapy room's towels and equipment. "If not right away... soon enough, I suspect." Hiking his backpack on his shoulder, he let his grin linger as he got back to business, "I'll be done at the hospital by 4:00. I'll be back around then..." He started toward the hall, but then turned, and with an amused smirk, turned back to ask, "unless... you're expecting company and will be busy..." At the exasperated grunt and the rolled eyes he got in return, the quiet man finally chuckled. "I take that as a no. Still... I'll be sure to knock before I come in."

And at the sound of the door closing behind the therapist, Logan was left alone to stare at the container in his hand, wondering just what the man had seen to make such a comment... but his thoughts soon wandered back to Max, and the trust he'd seen in her eyes hours before... and a small smile grew. Pausing to take another whiff of the exotic oil, he chuckled a little, then screwed the bottle top back in place. Only beginning to imagine how amazing the oil's scent could be, warmed and rising from Max's skin, he dropped the bottle onto his lap and pushed on out of the room to try and get a grip on his day...

**Later, the same morning:**

An easy way to jumpstart his day was to see what the night drop and morning mail had to offer. Bling had brought in both upon his arrival for their session, so, after his shower, Logan started by fishing through the new materials left on his hallway table. He went from the items just now added to the stack, to some of the materials left waiting, their recipient having put off dealing with them. Languidly, Logan looked again through the small stack – including a couple concert announcements, a gallery opening, all products of mailing lists left over from pre-Pulse days of art walks, and wine and cheese receptions, and wealthy patron status... He tended these days to wait a while before throwing them away – even though he couldn't imagine fully living that life again, the efforts to reopen more galleries and concert seasons fed his hope that things were starting to turn the corner, and the long period of the economic depression was finally starting to recede...

Shifting through the papers on the table he came yet again across the creamy, expensive pre-Pulse card stock and the real, old-fashioned engraving, and was again reminded that he'd left this invitation waiting far longer than was decent – and it dawned on him that he'd finally stalled long enough that the decision was probably made for him by now, anyway. Flipping it back onto the table, he went on to sort through the rest of the mail there, and in another minute, dropped a few of the items in his lap and backed away to start his pivot – but the old-style script on the table pulled his eye back to the card, and he moved back to the table again, lifting the formal invitation with the small, ripped piece of notebook paper clipped to the top, in Bennett's familiar, looping scrawl: "Come on, Logan, it's been a month. Say yes."

That 'month' had been ten weeks before, when his cousin had told him in the same breath that he was getting married, and that he wanted Logan to be his best man. The invitation had come four weeks later, the engagement parties and showers had been post-mortemed in the local papers, and Bennett telephoned every so often to assure Logan he truly was wanted, and all would be fine.

Too late now, certainly. Even Bennett wouldn't wait until the week before the wedding, still hoping that his hapless cousin would agree to be paraded in front of Seattle's snootiest. Ironic, too, that timing; would he have agreed to be best man if he knew he had someone he could take as a date and seem a bit less pitiful, a woman who would agree to go with Seattle's newest novelty, a Cale-on-wheels? And would he have had the nerve to ask Max if she'd appeared at his side, leaning on him for comfort, just a few weeks earlier than she had, making it clear that he had a place in her life?

He wondered if Max would ever consider going to a wedding... to a _Cale_ wedding. With him. _Had she ever had a chance to go to one? Probably not one like Uncle Jonas and Aunt Margot would throw for their youngest... _Before last night he might have thought she'd just scoff or laugh, probably go if he really wanted her to, but wouldn't have let him forget that she owed him for the big favor she'd bestow by going as his date.

...but now... the look he'd seen in her eyes just hours before ... her smiles... her desire for his company, to help her through the bad times...

Well, it was too late for him to worry about that now, wasn't it? Bennett would have asked one of his brothers or a friend by now... and he couldn't just go as a guest after stalling Bennett so long ... he'd send a nice gift, drop him a note ... and would make sure to call when they were back from the honeymoon.

He tossed the invitation aside and went back toward his computer room to log in the information pulled from that day's mail. As he did so, however, he couldn't help but imagine Max at a Cale family function ... Max at a formal, evening affair ... Max at a _wedding_...

**Two days later:**

Not unusual for him, Logan had gotten involved and lost track of the time, and now was running late for his pick up game. He almost didn't stop for the phone, having managed to pull open the front door before the caller spoke to his message machine. But when he heard the voice, and especially the words of someone who knew his cousin might ignore the ringing phone unless begged, his forward momentum was stopped...

"Logan? Logan, you there? C'mon, pick up; look, Mom's wearing me out..."

At the sound of Bennett's voice, Logan sighed, shut the door and turned around to snag the phone, bracing it with his shoulder as he took the moment to adjust the contents of his bag and shove the towel in with the rest from where he'd dropped in his lap on the way out, and start to pull on his vest...

"Hey, Bennett..."

"Finally – you could return a call, you know..." The groom sounded frazzled, Logan chuckled to himself. "You've got to call her and tell her you'll be at the rehearsal..."

"What?"

"It was bad enough when I told her you'd be best man, but she's wanting to know why you haven't shown up at any of the parties, and haven't RSVP'd about the rehearsal dinner cruise... she thinks you're going to back out..."

"Whoa, Bennet; hold up a minute..." Logan shifted the phone from his shoulder to a free hand, his bag sliding off his lap unnoticed. "The wedding's in what, three days? You can't mean..."

"It's tomorrow. The rehearsal's tonight. I told you I'd wait for you and I knew you'd cave. You just better cave in the next few hours, though, because if I go crazy and elope I'll tell Mom it was all your idea."

"Bennett..." Logan said helplessly. His mind raced with the dilemmas he thought he'd managed to escape with his delay: his family and their friends, many of whom he'd not seen for many, many months and most, not since the shooting, all waiting for his performance and screw-ups and the inevitable struggles with the chair; taking the high road with his aunt and uncle as he always did, just inviting them to be increasingly belittling with their comments, just to see if they could get under his skin... The sudden thought of facing them all in twenty four hours – and several of them that evening at the rehearsal – brought on a sudden, cold sweat he could swear he felt to his toes. But the thought of Bennett holding out against his mother, stubbornly certain Logan would agree, was a powerful image – but appreciation or guilt, he wasn't quite sure... and his pragmatism prodded that he couldn't avoid them all for ever, no matter the looks or the whispers or the snickers...

...but the other thing – the thing about all the family and friends saying "poor Logan, no woman would have him now" just might be averted – because Max had come to _him_, saying he mattered, saying she found comfort and care and assurance in his company. Maybe ... just maybe ... he _could_ ask the most beautiful girl in Seattle to be his date...

... and at the thought – knowing that he might still chicken out because of his family, or might take abuse unfairly heaped on him by blood relatives ... knowing he'd pass on the 'dinner cruise' no matter whatever else happened ... but knowing that, if he _did_ show up at the wedding with Max at his side, society's 'finest' would spend half their time gossiping about what a lucky man Logan Cale was, after all – he finally relaxed ... actually smiled ... and drew a deep breath to speak.

"Neither of us would survive your eloping," he smirked. A drawn breath later, sitting back in surrender, he let his thoughts start imagining the scene. "So what time's the rehearsal, cuz?"

**_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_**

_A/N: My thanks to all of you who have read, with extra thanks for those thoughtful folks who left reviews. The interest, encouragement and support are appreciated far more than you know._

_S_


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